


Not a One Night Stand

by embroiderama



Series: Not a One Night Stand [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter never thought he'd be glad to have his car stolen, but he also never expected to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a One Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the "cop AU" square on my [](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)**trope_bingo** card. It's set roughly ten years ago and is an AU in which (highlight for S4 spoilers) James never killed anybody so Neal and his mom never went into WitSec but the story itself doesn't have spoilers for S4, I don't think.

Peter sat in the coffee shop checking his watch, drinking his decaf and feeling like a fool. He was nobody’s definition of a wild child or a party boy, and even living in New York City he rarely made the effort to go out to bars or clubs. Peter’s idea of going out to a bar usually involved sports, really big TV screens, and a few beers, and that didn’t mix very well with cruising for men. Really, it was no surprise that he was 40 and still single or that it had been embarrassingly long since he’d even slept with anybody.

Then the Bureau sent him to DC for some cross-training, and while sitting in his hotel room he convinced himself to take a chance, go out. Because he was Peter Burke, taking a chance and going out meant going to one of DC’s gay clubs early enough that there were more people eating dinner or drinking sedately at the bar than writhing on the dance floor but there was only so far that Peter was willing to push himself out of his comfort zone. He stayed for a little over an hour, nursing one drink and not doing anything more than attempting to flirt, then left when the club started gearing up for the Non-Stop 80s Dance Party portion of the evening.

That, unfortunately, was when the night got really interesting because his car was gone. Peter was certain he knew where he’d left it in a perfectly legal parking spot, but he walked an extra two blocks in either direction and double-checked for “no parking” and “tow-away zone” signs, but there was nothing—no car with New York plates and no relevant signs. Peter rubbed his hands over his face and wished that he could rewind the evening and just fall asleep to reality TV in his hotel room, and when that didn’t happen he turned back to walk to the coffee shop down the block from the club. The neighborhood was relatively quiet, and that was Peter’s best option unless he wanted to go wait inside the club. He did not.

In the coffee shop, Peter sat in a booth, placed his order, then took out his phone and called the District police non-emergency line. He felt ridiculous, an FBI agent calling the local guys over a stolen car, but there wasn’t likely to be any federal crime involved and Peter certainly didn’t want his evening activities to be the talk of the office. He wasn’t in the closet but given that he hadn’t had a long-term relationship since before Quantico he didn’t have much reason to discuss his sexuality, and the last thing he wanted was his dating life (or lack thereof) coming up in the context of a crime. So he called in the report, gave the dispatcher his badge number in the hopes that it would move him up the line a little bit, and settled in to wait.

Waiting gave him ample opportunity to worry about what would happen when the officer arrived. Peter didn’t doubt his ability to stick up for himself and hold his own, but the prospect of being sneered at by some homophobic cop wasn’t exactly appealing. And it would be obvious to anybody who knew the area that he’d been at the gay club because he was reporting the theft of an out of state car and he wasn’t dressed for sitting around in a coffee shop all night. Not that there was anything wrong with his clothes—black t-shirt, black jeans that were snugger than his usual preference, black boots, fitted black leather jacket—but it didn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d been, especially considering the stamp on his hand. He just wanted to report his stolen car, get back to his hotel room, and hopefully at some point get his car back; he didn’t want any trouble.

Peter was lost in contemplation of his coffee when he heard the jingle of the door opening followed by the squeal of a walkie-talkie. He looked up, preparing for the worst, and then just had to stare. The officer walking toward him was young, 25 maybe, and prettier than anybody Peter had seen in the club earlier. Prettier than almost anybody ever, and Peter thought that if this was some kind of elaborate practical joke, if one of Phil’s guys had moved his car and sent some stripper in to humiliate him, there was going to be hell to pay. Seriously, hell to pay. Nobody’s ass should look that good in uniform pants.

Peter stood to approach the man and as he got closer he could see that the weapon on his belt was either real or a higher quality replica than any stripper would carry, and when he met Peter’s eyes there was a flash of something quickly covered up with a bland, business-like façade. “Officer?”

“Mr. Burke?” At Peter’s nod he continued, “Officer Caffrey. Can we sit?”

“Sure.” Peter slid back into his booth, and Caffrey sat across from him, looking tired for a moment before shaking it off and pulling out his notepad. While he looked at his notes, the waitress came over with an empty cup for the officer and coffee for them both, and Peter thought that there were some benefits to being in a uniform.

“I’m sorry,” Caffrey said as he looked back up at Peter. “It’s Agent Burke?”

“That’s right.” Peter slid his ID and badge across the table, and Caffrey copied down his information. Peter answered the rest of the questions as Caffrey filled out the report form—the location and time where he’d left his car, the time he discovered it missing, the make, model, year and color, all the bland details.

“You were at the club down the block?”

 _Here it comes_ , Peter thought. “Yes, I was.”

Caffrey nodded. “Did you have the fries?”

Peter blinked, trying to figure out if that was some obscure put-down or impertinent reference. “What? No. I had one beer.”

Caffrey shrugged. “I just asked because they have really good fries. Better than you would expect—I recommend them.” Caffrey beamed then, not looking tired anymore.

“Oh!” Peter said. “Oh.” He let himself take another look at the cop then had to force himself to look away from those ridiculous blue eyes. Just because Caffrey was apparently gay, that wasn’t any excuse to sexually harass him. “Thanks.”

“Just spreading the word. Look, I’m sure you know the stats on stolen cars, so I recommend calling your insurance company first thing tomorrow, but we will contact you if anything turns up. Meanwhile, I can give you a ride back to your hotel if you don’t mind showing up in a squad car.”

“Can I sit in the front seat?”

Caffrey smiled again, and Peter thought he’d do just about anything to see that some more. “I think I can make an exception for a fellow officer of the law. Ready to go?”

“More than ready.” Peter slid out of the booth and put down a ten to cover the coffees while Caffrey more awkwardly stood with his equipment belt banging against the table. Peter felt a little bit naked, being unarmed, but carrying his weapon into a club wasn’t Peter’s definition of a good idea. He followed Caffrey out to the car, almost tripping over a chair in his effort to keep his eyes on the wiry shape of his back under the dark blue uniform shirt, the generous curve of his ass. He wouldn’t say or do anything but damn. Nobody could blame him for looking when the looking was this good.

The ride back to Peter’s hotel went quickly, and when the car was idling in front of the doors Caffrey pulled a card out of his pocket and wrote on the back. “If there’s any news about your car it’ll probably be one of the detectives calling you back so there won’t be any reason for you to see me. But, uh, this is my number. If you want.” Neal held out the card but then didn't let go of it until Peter met his eyes. “If you want anything,” he added with a look that made Peter want to rip off his uniform and take him right there, scandal be damned.

“I do,” Peter said, feeling dazed with lust. “I mean, I will. Call you.” Peter shook his head and climbed out of the car before he could embarrass himself further. He heard the car drive off as he turned to enter the hotel, and it wasn’t until he was waiting for the elevator doors to open that Peter thought to look at the card in his hand. _Neal Caffrey._ The name sounded good in Peter’s head, and when he mouthed the officer’s first name silently it felt just right on his tongue.

~~~

In the morning, Peter called his insurance company to report the car stolen and resigned himself to the prospect of shopping for a replacement given the abysmal chances of his car being found before it was stripped for parts. During a boring morning meeting, he contemplated the pros and cons of dealerships versus want-ads versus police auctions, trying to distract himself from contemplating Officer Neal Caffrey's ass.

The night before, Peter had hit the shower as soon as he got up to his room, telling himself that he needed to wash off the smell of smoke from the club. Cleaning himself off had turned into getting himself off, and he didn't know what was worse--that he had a raging hard-on of a crush, that he had the crush on some kid a dozen years younger than himself or that he apparently had a uniform kink. He really didn't like being that much of a stereotype, but on the other hand all he wanted to do with that uniform was take it off, see if the body underneath lived up to his fantasy, find out if the man was more than the uniform.

Peter felt his phone buzz in his pocket during the meeting, and when he checked his voicemail he was shocked to hear a woman from the police department informing him that his vehicle had been located. They weren't in the middle of any hot cases, so Peter took the afternoon off to go fill out paperwork and get his car back from the police impound lot. He hadn't thought that kids still thought joyriding was a fun thing to do, but he was glad to not have to deal with more than a few dents and scratches.

By the time he was done, it was too late to be worth heading back to the office, but he didn't feel like going back to his room either. He took the business card out of his pocket and looked at the number on the back, but he didn't know if he should call or not. For one thing, he didn't know what schedule Neal was working, but beyond that it just felt strange. Peter didn't think of himself as the kind of guy who was into one-night-stands or, worse, booty-calls, but maybe it was time to make an exception. He hadn't slept with anybody in months, and here he had a guy handing over his number, a guy who looked like he belonged in some kind of calendar. Not calling would be a crime, almost. With that set in his mind, Peter picked up his phone and dialed quickly before he could talk himself out of it.

"Caffrey." The voice was upbeat, wide-awake, and Peter was glad he hadn't caught him sleeping.

Peter almost addressed him professionally, but he stopped himself at the last second. "Neal, this is Peter Burke. From last night."

"Hey, I'm glad you called. Do you have dinner plans?"

"Not yet. Do you want to meet somewhere?"

"Do you like Greek?"

"Uh, sure."

"Okay, there's this amazing food truck, but I don't want to eat outside with all the hipster kids, and you probably don't either."

"I have a table in my room," Peter said, feeling like a dirty, dirty man.

"Perfect. Meet you in about an hour?"

"Room 812."

"I'll be there."

A surge of nervous energy hit as soon as Peter put his phone down, but it was done. The date was set. An hour was far more time than he needed to get back to the hotel, so Peter detoured to pick up a bottle of wine and hoped that the salesperson didn't steer him wrong. Back at the room, Peter freshened up then stuck the wine in a sink full of ice to chill. He thought about changing but ultimately settled on taking off his suit coat and tie and opening the top buttons on his shirt.

When the knock came at his door--a polite tap rather than the typical police officer BANG BANG BANG--Peter felt another rush of nerves wash over him and hoped that he really was still too young for a heart attack. He took a deep breath and opened the door then stood staring. He had thought Caffrey looked good in his police uniform, but his casual outfit of dark jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater made him look even more startlingly handsome.

"Can I come in?"

Peter shook himself out of his daze. "Yes, of course. Hi."

Neal walked in past Peter then pushed the door closed, set the big paper bag of food down on the floor, then stepped in closer until Peter was against the wall of the entranceway. "Hi," Neal said, so close Peter could feel his breath on his face, then he leaned up and took Peter's mouth in a claiming kiss, his tongue pushing inside, the brief sting of his teeth.

Peter pulled him in closer, and the ass that had looked so good in uniform pants felt even better cupped in his hands, just a layer or two of cotton keeping him from feeling that skin warm against his. They stumbled toward the bed, almost tripping over the bag, and Peter pushed up Neal's soft sweater to reveal a long, lean chest he wanted to explore inch by inch. Neither of them had the time or patience for that, not then as they struggled out of their pants and Peter tugged off his shirts in one awkward move.

Neal looked at him, and Peter had a moment to feel naked and imperfect before Neal kissed him again then pushed him down onto the bed and straddled his lap, a condom and packet of lube in his hand. "Are you good with this?" Neal asked, his eyes wide, voice rough with need.

"What the hell do you think?" Peter nodded down at his erection, already stiff and heavy between his legs, and Neal's beautiful cock was just as hard, just as ready. He wasn't sure if Neal wanted to fuck him or ride him but he didn't care, he really didn't care.

"Good." Neal opened the condom and as he began to roll it down over Peter's cock, Peter had to close his eyes and breathe through the need to come, come right there in Neal's hand because it had been too long with only the touch of his own hand. But he wasn't a kid anymore, and he wasn't going to derail everything by spurting off on a hair-trigger. He bit his lip, backed himself away from the edge, and when he opened his eyes Neal was watching him.

"What?" Peter asked, frustrated by the now light touch of Neal's hand as he smoothed a layer of lube over the condom.

"I like you like that, right on the edge."

Peter growled, and Neal grinned. He knelt up and reached back to prepare himself with lube then widened his stance, lifted his narrow hips, and slowly--maddeningly slowly--lowered the tight heat of his ass onto Peter's cock. Peter felt like he was being swallowed whole, half an inch at a time. He felt like he would go crazy from the need to push up into that heat, to leverage his weight and flip Neal onto his back, but Neal was running this show, and he was doing a damn good job of keeping Peter on the edge, just where he wanted him.

After an excruciating number of seconds, Peter was finally balls-deep, Neal's ass against his thighs. His head swimming with need, Peter wrapped his hand around the slim length of Neal's cock, and then they started to move together. Neal set the rhythm but he found the right one, and Peter kept his eyes on Neal's face as he jacked him off to see when he got it right. He really wanted to get it right, even if this had to be a one-night stand.

When he felt the need to come bearing down on him like a summer storm, Peter doubled his efforts to get Neal off. He flicked one thumb over the head of his cock, his other thumb rough over one tight nipple, and as Neal gasped and came all over Peter's hand Peter gave in to the need throbbing in his gut. He twisted his hips, put the weight of his upper body into the motion, and rolled Neal down onto the bed. He found his own frantic rhythm as Neal shook through his orgasm, and just when he thought he might die from need and lack of oxygen Peter came deep inside Neal then his arms gave way and he collapsed down to the bed, spent, just managing to pull out and sprawl next to Neal rather than on top of him.

Peter let himself drift off then, and he didn't know exactly how much time had passed when the chill of drying sweat pulled him into wakefulness. He squeezed his eyes closed and told himself that it was okay if Neal had already left, but when he opened his eyes Neal was sprawled next to him. He was a mess--strands of dark, wavy hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and drying come on his chest--but Peter didn't know if he'd ever seen anything better. "Hi," he said, feeling stupid.

Neal's answering smile looked sweet and genuine. "Hi."

"So." Peter looked down at himself and saw that he was a wreck, too.

"So, food?"

Peter laughed, relief that Neal wasn't going to run off immediately leaving him starving. "Food would be great. Give me a minute?"

Neal nodded, and Peter rolled off the bed, grabbed his boxers from the floor, and went off to the bathroom to clean up and get rid of the condom. He pulled the bottle of wine out of the sink and splashed his face with the icy water before cleaning himself up with a warm washcloth and pulling on his underwear. Bottle in hand, he went back out into the room and found Neal climbing off the bed.

"My turn," Neal said, sliding his hand across Peter's chest as they passed each other. It felt shockingly intimate now that they weren't driven by lust, and Peter distracted himself by opening the wine and pouring it into two heavy-bottomed hotel glasses. It was very cold, too cold probably, but it was the next best thing to an ice-cold beer. Neal came back out of the bathroom, cleaned up and wearing snug, black boxer briefs, and Peter wished he was still young enough to go again right away.

They eschewed the table and ate in bed, bending over their napkins to try to keep the bits of flaky pastry and dripping sauces from getting on the sheet. When the food was gone and the bottle of wine nearly empty, Peter leaned back against the headboard. "Would it be breaking some code if I said I wished this didn't have to be a one-off?"

Neal took a deep swallow of his wine and turned to lean sideways against the headboard. "Maybe, but then again maybe it _doesn't_ have to be a one-time thing."

Peter shook his head, reluctant to say no to anything when it came to this man. "I'm not cut out for a long-distance relationship. I know DC to New York isn't that far, but--"

"No, me either, but what about New York to New Jersey?"

"What?"

"I'm not going to be here in the District much longer. I got a job offer from the Transit Police in Newark, and it's not ideal but there's no future for me here."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Neal sighed. "I've been on the force here for five years, since right out of college. I went to grad school part-time, just finished my Masters, passed the detective exam, but it's clear that I'm never going to get out of uniform here."

Peter frowned and turned to face Neal better. "If they're discriminating against you--"

Neal shook his head. "Well, they are but not because I'm gay, it's because of who I am. My father was a cop here, this is all I ever wanted to do. But he--he made some mistakes, made a lot of enemies. Even though I took my mom's name back when I was a kid after he left, these guys have long memories." Neal sighed again and shrugged. "I could wait for them all to retire, but I'd rather just move on. Newark will give me a gold shield, and I'll see where I can go from there."

"That's not right. You're obviously bright, and you seem like a good cop--it's not right. But I can't say I'm upset about the idea of maybe being able to see you again."

"Not maybe." Neal grinned then leaned in to press a soft kiss to Peter's lips. "Definitely," he whispered. "Definitely."

Peter sighed and leaned his head against Neal's. The rational part of his brain knew he was probably being stupidly romantic, but he couldn't help feeling that this was the thing, the right thing, the one he'd been waiting for all these years. He closed his eyes and sent a silent thanks to the idiot kids who had stolen his car. There was plenty of time to worry about the future in the morning; for the night, the present was all he needed.


End file.
